


My Decision

by ObsessedWithMerlin



Category: The Selection Series - Kiera Cass
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedWithMerlin/pseuds/ObsessedWithMerlin
Summary: The first Report after Marlee and Carter's caning, Maxon doesn't come to her room. So instead of accepting this, America goes to him. How will this decision effect the rest of their story? Will America patch up their failing relationship, or do they let it fade to nothing?





	1. Chapter 1

I sip my tea again. King Clarkson drifts over to Celeste, and she gives him a seductive smile. It's a little disturbing. Where are her boundaries?  
Kriss leans over to touch my dress. "That fabric is amazing. With your hair, you look like a sunset."  
"Thank you," I say, blinking my eyes. The light has caught on her necklace, an explosion of silver on her throat, and it blinds me for a moment. "My maids are very talented."  
"Absolutely. I like mine, but if I become princess, I'm stealing yours!"  
She laughs, maybe meaning her words as a joke, maybe not. Either way, something about my maids hemming her clothes bothers me. I force a smile though.  
"What's so funny?" Maxon asks, walking over.  
"Just girl talk," Kriss flirts. She's really on it tonight. "I was trying to calm America. She's nervous about speaking to your father."  
Thank you for that, Kriss.  
"You don't have a thing to worry about. Be natural. You already look fantastic." Maxon gives me an easy smile. He's clearly trying to open up our lines of communication again.  
"That's what I said!" Kriss exclaims. They share a quick look, and there's this feeling of them being on a team. It's strange.  
"Well, I'll leave you to your girl talk. Good-bye for now." Maxon gives us both a short bow and goes over to join his mother.  
Kriss sighs and watches Maxon go. "He's really something." She gives me a quick smile and goes to talk to Gavril.  
I watch the elaborate dance of the room, couples coming together to speak, separating to find new partners. I'm even happy to have Elise join me in my corner, though she doesn't say much.  
"Oh, ladies, the time has gotten away from us," the king calls. "We need to make our way downstairs."  
I look up at the clock, and he's right. We have about ten minutes to get down to the set and prepare ourselves.  
It doesn't seem to matter how I feel about being a princess, or how I feel about Maxon, or how I feel about anything. The king clearly thinks I'm so unlikely a candidate that he didn't even want to bother speaking with me. I was excluded, perhaps on purpose, and no one even noticed.  
I hold it together through the Report. I even make it through dismissing my maids. But once I'm alone, I brake down.  
I'm not sure how I'll explain myself when Maxon came knocking, but that ends up not mattering.  
The door never opens. I can't help but wonder whose company he's enjoying instead. Maybe he's with Kriss. Or Celeste. Probably Kriss. Every time I think about how they seem to be growing closer I want to scream. She's so incredibly patronizing, its truly an art.  
I think about getting changed and just going to sleep. But I know I won't get any. I know I promised I'd give him time, but I need him. I'm not going to let him slip away from me. I remember the Halloween Ball and all that went unspoken but communicated nonetheless. If he would have asked that night, I would have said yes.  
Before I can change my mind, I'm walking out of my room and heading towards the forbidden third floor. As I round the corner towards the stairs, a guard passes. I press myself against the wall until he's gone and then sprint silently up the stairs, glad for the flats I had changed into after the Report. It doesn't take me long to find his room, he had described the door to me earlier and it was hard to miss. Red wood, glossed over with a finish and markings and symbols I didn't understand carved into the face.  
I stare at it for a moment then gather my courage and knock. Twice. When no immediate answer comes, I don't know whether to sigh in relief or disappointment. I just turn around to go back to my room when the door opens.  
"America?" My head snaps back to look at him. He's in his full suit still, although his tie is loosened slightly. I wonder if he ever lets his guard down. "What are you doing here?"  
"You didn't come," I whisper, now realizing how stupid it must sound. I've pushed him away all week but then expect him to come to me after the Report. I feel like crying.  
His eyes widen. "I didn't think you wanted me too."  
"You always come," the sob breaks thru my words and just like I've been prone to all week, I burst out in tears. Suddenly, I'm enveloped in strong arms and pressed against an even stronger chest. Why is he holding me? We're not supposed to be friends at the moment. I press closer to him. Why does he have to have such a strong chest?  
"Shh, my dear, come in." I break down even further as he invites me into his sanctuary, the only part of his home that hasn't been invaded by weepy eyed girls. The door shuts behind us, the wood making a solid sound that for some reason makes me feel safe, like nothing outside that door matters in here.  
He holds me until I stop crying and as I'm calming I start to notice things I hadn't really before. Like how his hands gliding up my back make me feel petite like a china doll. And how he must shave everyday in the morning and then again before dinner because I had never noticed the stubble that was now resting against my forehead. Or the way his voice is more soothing than even the sound of my violin.  
"I'm sorry, America. I can't stand the thought that I'm the cause of your pain."  
Another dry sob leaves my mouth and I nuzzle into his neck, his skin warm and comforting against my own. "Maxon?"  
"Yes, my de-darling?" He stops himself before he can call me 'his dear.' I had let it slide earlier, too overwhelmed that he still could consider me dear anything. I smile against his shoulder.  
"Why are you so good?" I murmur helplessly.  
He pulls back to look at me, shocked into silence. We stand there, wrapped tightly in each others arms, light blue on chocolate brown.  
"Do you remember the Halloween Ball, Maxon?" I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. He nods, his eyes sad. I want to take away that sadness, take it away and never let it come back. "You made a toast at the end of the night. Did you mean it?"  
His furrowed brow lifts and his beautiful brown eyes come back to life. "With ever beat of my heart."  
"Dance with me," I beg tugging on his arms to let me go.  
He smiles so brightly and it reminds me of Gerald when he plays soccer back home. Maxon spins me under our arms but quickly, as if he can't bare even that much separation, pulls me back to him. Despite my begging, we're not even really dancing, just holding each other, letting our hearts heal.  
"I'm so sorry, America." He says after a while.  
"For what?" I ask, lifting my head off his chest.  
"Marlee and Carter."  
I stiffen, feeling the castle I had built fall apart around me, leaving me broken and gasping for air.  
He feels me doing this and holds me tighter. "Please, America, please let me explain."  
"Explain what," I snap, trying to disentangle myself from him. He doesn't let me.  
"America, you have to let me explain—"  
"I don't have to do anything."  
"America!" He raises his voice, something he's never done to me, not really. "Sit down."  
I sit, the anger I had been reaching for was shocked into submission. I watch him from his small couch, he paces, runs his fingers through his hair, curses quietly, then paces some more. I can see the turmoil plainly displayed on his handsome face. A few minutes ago I wanted nothing more than to remove his sadness and seeing him now tears me up.  
"Maxon," my voice breaks but it gets his attention.  
His pacing stops as his gaze falls on me. He fall to one knee in front of me and grabs my hands in his. "I don't know how to lose you, America."  
"I can't be Queen." For the first time laying everything out.  
"Is that your only reservation?" He sounds so broken.  
"I'll never be able to stand by and watch something like that."  
"Canings are rare, so rare. And even when they do happen, it won't always be like that. You'll get used to wearing a mask. You'll probably never know them again."  
"I don't want to get used to it."  
"But thats the only thing?" he asks again, and then I realize why.  
"Its not you, Maxon," I say immediately but he looks like he doesn't believe me. "It could never be you," I insist.  
"It is me, America. This is me. I know I failed you that day. I let your best friend be caned and publicly disgraced. I'd hate me too."  
"I don't hate you."  
He doesn't believe me and he shakes his head to refute my claim. I start to get defensive.  
"I could never hate you."  
"You could never hate me? Even when I'll have to sentence someone to death? Even when you force me to marry someone else? Even when I fail and the Rebels take the crown, throwing the entire country into anarchy? Even when—"  
I couldn't listen to any more, not with every question worse than the one before. I interrupt him, "Even then!"  
"Why!"  
"Because I lo—" I cut off my own voice. Mortified at what almost came out of my mouth. "L-like you," I stammer. What the hell just happened? I didn't . . . love Maxon. . . did I?  
Maxon stares at me shocked, but then his gaze intensifies and I feel as though I am sitting in front of a fire. "Thats not what you were going to say."  
"Yes, it was."  
"No." Maxon rises up from his knees and places his hands on the black leather couch on both sides of my lap.  
"What else could I have said?" I squeak.  
He smiles like a cheshire cat, his eyes mischievous. He leans forward to whispers in my ear. "We both know what you were going to say. But even so, I have ways of finding out the truth."  
I shiver. "And what are those?"  
"Did you know lying to the crown prince is illegal?" His lips make contact with the sensitive skin on my neck.  
"Are you going to turn me in, Your Highness?"  
Maxon lays open mouth kissed down my neck, breaking from the light suction to say his response. "I might just. . . punish you myself."  
"You have no proof of my crime."  
He scoffs. "My word is infallible, I don't need proof."  
I laugh and shove him backwards by his shoulders causing him to fall back onto the floor. And then I'm running towards a door—I think his closet—but he's just able to grab me as I reach my destination.  
"Where are you going?" He growls playfully. Maxon uses our new location to push me against the wall. "Tell me the truth, my lady, and I shall spare your crimes with a royal pardon."  
"Like you could actually do anything about it." I taunt.  
Maxon leans closer. "Tell me."  
"Never."  
His mouth crushes into mine, immediately searching me like I have the answers to life itself. Warmth spreads through my body and I slide my hands up his arms and across his chest to the lapels of his suit jacket. I've never felt anything like this in my life, not even some of those times I almost let Aspen take things further. This was stronger, our bond was deeper, like our bodies already knew what our minds wouldn't let our hearts feel. I need to be closer to him.  
"Off," I say instead of taking a breath in between one of the kisses. I tug off his jacket but he stops me when I reach his tie and shirt.  
"Tell me." He demands like its an obvious trade. Maybe it is.  
I yank my mouth away. We stand there sharing breaths and he somehow finds the will to raise an eyebrow at my discontinuation of the kiss. I bite my lip. "And what if I did?"  
"Did what?" His resumes his torture of my neck.  
"What if I did?" I repeat anxiously.  
He looks up at me with such hope and love in his eyes I want to cry again. He lightly drags the back of his fingers down my cheek and then his thumb across my swollen lips. I reach up and grab his hand, opening it and placing a kiss on his palm. "I'd make you my wife." He says plainly.  
"Can I have your word on that?" My eyes are shut tightly and I firmly press my cheek into his hand, waiting for his answer.  
"You can have the world." He promises.  
"I don't want the world, I just want you."  
"And I want you, America. Just say it."  
"I. . ."  
"Say the words, my darling, and I swear to you, I'll be yours till the end of my days."  
I close my eyes, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird. What do I do? I search my mind for an answer as Maxon, the prince of Illea, the next ruler of my country, the future king, waits patiently for a girl to tell him if she loves him or not.  
"I—" I start again but am cut off by my own erratic breathing. I'm panicking.  
Maxon's hands come ups to frame my face gently. He shushes me quietly. "This isn't something to fear, America." He waits a moment for my breathing to calm, it doesn't. "What are you so afraid of?"  
I'm finally able to get myself back under control. "Last time, it was so easy for him to leave. And he was just a six, you're the Prince, you still have four other girls who are infinitely better suited to be queen—"  
"Even if that's true, and it's not," Maxon stresses. "I'm not here looking for a queen like I would search for an advisor, I'm looking for a wife. Yes, someone to share my thoughts with and get insight from but also someone to love. Someone to share in the joys of life. Someone to have children with. Someone hold during thunderstorms and share my bed with ever night. Someone to help me navigate the tough politics of the world but then to come back here and block everything else out with. I've craved the love and the passion of my future wife since the day I found out about my fated selection, and you are the only one I'm convinced can give that to me." He leaned forward, resting his forehead on mine. "The only one." He whispered. "Just say the words."  
"Okay," my voice shook with the breaths I struggled to continue.  
Maxon cuts me off before I could go into full hysteria. "You don't trust me," he sighs and I could hear the anguish in it. Maxon rested his head on mine, his eyes closed in concentration. Then he takes my hands in his. "What I'm about to show you goes to your grave. Understood?"  
I nod, a little confused but also excited as he brings my fingers to the buttons on his shirt. I start undoing them and feel my eyes widen as I catch sight of that strong chest I had so admired earlier when he held me. He looks like a sculpture of a Greek god. His chest hard and clearly defined and his stomach chiseled into a perfect six pack and a sexy V teased me from beneath his belt line.  
I reach out to touch him but he catches my fingers and presses a kiss to them before turning. I stood confused for a moment before caustically removing his shirt. It takes me a moment to register what I'm looking at.  
Scars crisscrossed his back, some looking well healed over from years ago while others looked merely months old, still pink. "Maxon?" I ask, completely horrified. He's a prince, a ruler of the land how could this have happened to him? Who could have done this?  
"I have more sympathy for Marlee and Carter than you'd think." He laughs slightly, irony lacing his voice.  
I grab his shoulders and turn him to face me. I stare into his face, fear clutching at my heart. I throw my body into his, my arms wrapping around his back. I spread out my hands, using my plans to cover as much skin possible as if I could somehow turn back time and protect him from this. "W-who? H-h-how?"  
His hand is gently stroking my hair as he rests his check on the top of my head. "My father."  
I squeeze him tighter at this revaluation. Of course, it makes sense. Who else could have tortured the crown prince this way? But a father is supposed to love and nurture you, and yes, punish you for you mistakes but help you learn from them. Not this. Never this. This was done out of malice, not a desire to teach. My good, kind prince could never have done something to deserve such evil.  
"Never again." I swear vehemently.  
"I know, my darling."  
At the soft resignation in his words the dams break and I cry for him. For his pain, for the absence of a father's love, for his yearning for the love of a broken five from Carolina. I run my hands up and down his back, feeling his scars and wishing I could heal them with the love he so desperately wants. The uneven skin makes my silent cry worsen and I know he can feel my tears on his chest.  
"Who knows?" I ask, my voice wavering.  
"No one. Only the doctor but he's very discreet."  
I move my head to find his heartbeat. "How could he do this to you?"  
Maxon doesn't respond and I know it's a question he must have asked himself many times. After a few minutes of silence, Maxon speaks. "You don't have to tell me anything tonight. But know you now hold my deepest secret, and I will do everything in my power to gain your trust."  
I hold him close.  
"We should probably get you back to your room, even if you think no one saw you, most likely someone did. I would hate to give the staff reason to gossip, or my father a reason to force me to eliminate you."  
"I don't think I can let go of you," I confess, pressing my face into his chest.  
His fingers comb thru my hair in a reassuring manner. "I can take you somewhere."  
"I'd rather not see another human at the moment, especially if there's a chance of running into your father."  
"Don't worry, I was thinking someplace where we'd be undisturbed."  
"Where?"  
"The library." He pulls away with a pacifying kiss to my forehead and puts back on his white shirt.  
When he reaches for his suit coat, I stop him. "Leave it off."  
He quirks an eyebrow, something that makes me bite my lip at the handsomeness of this man.  
"I like how you look without it on. Like you trust me enough to let your guard down."  
He smiles softly, his eyes bearing into mine, letting me know just how much he trusts me. And I can feel a tug in my heart, a longing to repay the favor. He offers me his arm and leads me out of the room. Yes, this trust is too precious to ever break. I will be worthy of this man, if it takes me a year.


	2. The Library

Before I know it, we have arrived before the grand doors of the library. I'm bombarded by the smell of books and a sight that can only be described as a bibliophilic dream. The room is larger than the Great Room and the ceiling reaches three floors up. There are staircases on each side of the room but unlike the ones in the rest of the palace, they are not designed to be grand, they are made to take up the least amount of space possible. They are cast iron and spiral up the three floors, reaching each balcony overlooking the center sitting area.  
"Do you like it?" Maxon asks.  
I walk further into the room, turning in a circle to examine every side of the library. "Its beautiful," I whisper in awe. "How come I haven't seen it before?"  
He steps forward, hands behind his back, looking at the room with me. "It's used as a personal study for my family and the advisers. There's a public one on the other side of the palace, you might have seen that one, but it doesn't have near the amount of books as this. Plus the only way to get here is from the Royal Wing or the boardroom. The two most heavily guarded places other than the saferooms."  
Maxon offers me his hand and leads me to the left staircase. I expect it to be creaky and rusty like the ones I have seen in the refurbished building in Carolina, but its solid and no residue comes off on my hands when I touch the railing.  
"The books are organized by floor," Maxon says. "The advisors are only supposed to use the first and second floors, history and social science and then poetry and literature, respectively. The third is personal books."  
We arrive on the third floor and I realize the atmosphere has changed. The first two seem professional enough, but this is comfortable. Instead of tables and chairs taking up the limited space on the balcony, there are bookcases that run the partial width of the floor forming columns and rows. The colors of the books themselves are more varied, ranging from pink to blue to black. The floor is carpeted unlike the first two which were hardwood. And there is a small couch and side table nestled in to a corner behind the bookshelves.  
Maxon leads us to the couch. "I used to hide here when I was a boy. Not that people didn't know where I was, but staff aren't even allowed up here without a direct order."  
"So how does this help you keep your self control, if we've just traded one hiding spot for another?"  
He laughs lightly. I look around at all the books and something comes to my head. I figured this would be the best way to decide if he knows whats actually in those diaries.  
"So if no one is allowed up here, how come you keep the diaries hidden away?"  
He pauses. "I don't know," he looks perplexed and his brow furrows like it does when something takes a lot of consideration. "I don't know why my father wouldn't just keep them up here."  
I let him think for a few more moments, but as his frown deepens, I think about interrupting his thoughts. Nice going, America, you can stop ruining tonight anytime you feel like it.  
"It—" I start at the same time he says, "Have you—"  
I giggle. "You go."  
He nods. "Have you found anything in those books? Things my father wouldn't want out?"  
I bite my lip, now not knowing what to say.  
"You did?" He asks incredulously. "What did it say?"  
I take a breath to gather my courage and take the plunge. "It talks about how Gregory Illea came to power."  
"And?" He pushes when I don't continue.  
"And its not exactly good."  
Maxon looks shocked and I scold myself for ever thinking he could have known. "How far are you into it?"  
"Almost halfway."  
"When did you read this?"  
"Right after the caning."  
He swears. "You must have thought the worst of me." He looks up at me suddenly, fear etched into his features. "You did, didn't you?"  
"I didn't know what to think," I say quietly.  
He lets out a long breathe. "I'm just glad you came to me before doing anything rash."  
"Rash?" I fake outrage, attempting to lighten the mood. "Me?"  
He laughs and the tension disappears. "No, not you, my darling. You are the most rational person I've ever met."  
I smile cheekily. "I know. I don't understand why Silvia thinks she has anything to teach me. I'm already a model lady."  
Instead of replying Maxon kisses me. I sigh happily and return it, but ultimately push him away. "You, Sir, are not good at staying away."  
"Is there a reason I should?"  
I roll my eyes, "You're impossible."  
I sit down on the couch, picking up a thin leather-bound book. "What is this?"  
Maxon lays on his back, resting his head in my lap, as I open the cover. The title page reads Poetry of the Nineteenth Century. Before I can start to read the first poem, Maxon begins to recite, "Lord Byron, 1813."  
He looks up at me, his blonde hair drastically contrasted by the reds of my dress.  
"She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
Maxon never looks away from my face, as if he was a student examining a new found philosophy that suddenly answered all their questions, as if looking at me now, made the poem adopt a new more profound meaning. My heart beats rapidly in my chest but I hear each word clearly, like my heart already knows what he means to say.  
"One shade the more, one ray the less,  
Had half impaired the nameless grace  
Which waves in every raven tress,  
Or softly lightens o'er her face;  
Where thoughts serenely sweet express  
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."  
Maxon reaches up and traces the features he had been so carefully studying. I press a kiss to his wrist as his fingers tuck my hair behind my ear. I think I finally understand why poetry is so romantic. The way the words float off his lips, rehearsed, but sincere; a slow, composed delivery; and Maxon's voice, strong and sure, speaking the language of hearts. He finishes the poem with a small smile and a look that makes me melt. Yes, I think, poetry will definitely be explored more closely in the future.  
I bring his head up off my lap to give him a chaste kiss. "Tell me, sir, why do you have a love poem memorized? Is there any past lovers I should be worried about? I would hate to be viciously attacked some day while meeting foreign dignitaries."  
His eyes crinkle in amusement as he tries to keep a straight face. "Some number, I suppose. I have quite the reputation among the royal families."  
"I knew it all along." I reply indignantly, smiling so he knows I'm teasing.  
"You must be the only girl in the country then. Most believe I am the utmost example of a gentleman."  
"I must warn them be careful not to go on walks alone with you during the next Report. There's no telling what ideas you may get once you send the camera crews away."  
Maxon sits up quickly. "Then I will simply have to give my own warning. Once I am done, no man, if he believes himself to ever want children, shall dare go on a private walk with you again."  
"Again? As in after the Report? Does this mean men are free to take me on walks now?"  
"If a man is stupid enough to lay a hand on you, I'll be doing the world justice by removing his limbs from his body." His face is dead serious and I can't help the flutter in my stomach at Maxon's obvious possessiveness. But then I think of Aspen and those butterflies plummet, tossing and turning my stomach like a jar of beads given to a baby. Although we are teasing, I know there's always a hint of truth in everything someone says. Where I doubt Maxon will rip Aspen's arms off, I know he wouldn't—couldn't turn a blind eye if we were caught. Maxon just shared with me the biggest secret of his life, something that could ruin his father, his family and his actual reputation, and I'm cheating on him. Shit.  
"America?" Maxon's concerned voice breaks thru my trance. I shake myself out of my thoughts. I can't do anything about it now. I'll talk to Aspen tomorrow, and Maxon, well, after that. Sometime.  
"Sorry," I start. "Tonight's been. . ."  
"Amazing," Maxon finishes, but his eyes are cautious. I hate that they're cautious again. He's right, tonight's been amazing, he's been amazing. How can someone like Maxon ever think it right to have to ask or even seek the love of someone so below him?  
I nod in agreement and pull him close. I'm shaking and I know he feels it as he gently shushes me like he did when I was crying. "It's just a lot." I know he doesn't understand, but he doesn't have to. That's something I love about him.  
Love about him, not love him.  
Maxon turns me in his arms and holds me under his chin whole he lets me calm down. Soon I'm able to take full advantage of the stalwart body holding mine as I relax fully into him. I can feel him smile at this even if its just an instinct, but somehow, I seem to be growing increasingly aware of him and his mannerisms.  
When I make no move to speak, Maxon picks up the book and begins to read the next poem, his voice a steady whisper in my ear. I bury my face in his neck so with every breath I take, my senses are overwhelmed by his scent and warmth. I feel myself start to drift away from the couch and the books and the only thing that remains is the shoulder I'm resting on. I've never fallen asleep with someone still talking, and if I wasn't so exhausted from my ample and plentiful emotions today, I'd take more notice of it. But all in all I find it quite nice. His voice, that had just moments ago seemed so clear, now seemed as if he was underwater; every word seeming both jarring and too far away to respond to. By the time I couldn't stay awake any longer, my eyelids felt as if they had a ton of gold weighing on each and my arms and legs felt like I had just run a marathon. Some where in my subconscious I know I should have Maxon take me back to my room, but that knowledge is against every desire in my body, including the most natural one: sleep.


	3. The Next Morning

"America! America, wake up!" I jolt awake as I'm being thrown off a lap and onto the couch below. I stare up in confusion as I bounce on the cushions, blinking my eyes as they sting from the light. "Damn, damn, damn. America, get up; its a half past seven, breakfast is in thirty minutes!"  
"What?" I say with a yawn. Why was he yelling?  
"America!" Maxon grabs my shoulders and shakes me hard. "You need to go get dressed for breakfast."  
"Okay," I start to sit up but fall back down to the soft, comfortable pillows. "Five more minutes."  
"America!"  
My eyes pop open, his words finally registering. "Oh God! We stayed here all night!"  
Maxon rolls his eyes in irritation and grabs my arm, pulling me up and then to the stairs.  
"How did this happen?" I ask as we sprint out of the library.  
"I must have fallen asleep watching you," he mumbles and then turns a little red as he realizes what he just said.  
I laugh despite of our circumstances, "How very scandalist, your highness."  
"America, don't you understand," Maxon grabs my arm and drags me into a nearby closet. "Rumors could already be spreading. Neither of us slept in our rooms last night and we could have easily been seen together."  
In a moment we are back in the hall, him nearly at full speed, me being jerked behind him.  
"But we didn't—"  
"Do you have proof?" Maxon demands. At first I'm taken back by his harshness, but then I realize he's probably scared for my life.  
"I'm still a . . . And there are ways to test that. If it comes to that. . ."  
Maxon finally stops. "I won't put you thru that humiliation. America, until we find out the full extent of these rumors and how to quell them, I think it would be best not to be together for a while."  
"Maxon," I protest, betrayal clear in my voice. "No, I won't, I can't."  
"Please, my darling, I'll work this out as soon as I can." Maxon traces his finger tips over my cheekbones.  
Before I can respond, the door I didn't realize we were standing by opens and the unwelcome interruption gasps. We turn to see Lucy standing there. "My lady, thank goodness! Anne! Anne, I found her!"  
I start to go in, when I'm stopped by a gentle hand on my wrist. Irritated with what I believe is a complete overreaction, I don't turn around, but I don't pull away either. When he's sure I won't protest, he guides me around and into his arms like a dance and presses his lips to mine. His soft lips and chaste kiss heal the breech between us before it can form. "As soon as I can," Maxon promises again and I nod.  
I pull out of his arms and hurry into my room.  
The second the door closes behind me my maids are in a flurry, leading me to my vanity to wash and replace yesterday's makeup, handing me my toothbrush as they combed and quickly braided my hair, having all three of them change me into my day dress. The dress is new and truly beautiful and I wish I had more time to admire it as Lucy slips these small diamond pins into the intricate braid flowing over my shoulder.  
Although my maids work diligently, I can feel the tension and the unasked questions in the air. Finally I can't take it any longer. "I didn't sleep with him," I blurt. "Well, I mean, we did sleep together, but not in, you know, that, um, way."  
"You don't need to worry about gossip from us, My Lady," Anne reassures. "And you don't need to justify anything to us."  
I let out a frustrated groan. "Anne, really, we went to the library last night and just fell asleep."  
Anne just hums, pining small barrettes into the pleats in my hair. "If you don't believe me, I don't know what I'll do if the King suspects something."  
"You were out with the prince all night," Anne starts. "And he has shone quite an obvious partiality towards you. But I do believe that he and his intentions are an honorable pair."  
I look at her through the mirror and give her a grateful smile. She returns it with a hint of mischief in her eye.  
"On the other hand he is a very handsome man and he very well might have given in to very human temptations last night, and if that is the case than I would suspect, since there has been no such rumor in all this time the Selection has been in progress, that we will very soon have a new princess. And it would be my duty, as a citizen of Illea, to enlighten others to this fact, if there is, in fact, rumors."  
I smile for the first time this morning as I see Lucy and Mary nod in agreement.  
"Now, hurry. Breakfast starts in a few minutes," Anne hands me another pair of flats.  
I get to the dining hall just as the small bell goes off, letting the servers know it's time to bring out the food. I take a seat to the right of Kriss, who immediately raises her napkin over her mouth to cover her words, "you're late."  
"Not quite," I correct, then thank the server who is filling up my glass with my normal egg and pancake drink: orange juice.  
"Any idea where he is," Celeste hisses from her seat across the table, inclining her head to Maxon's usual place beside his father.  
I do my best to shrug nonchalantly, "Everyone has late days."  
I hear someone scoff and I know the rumors have spread thru the girls.  
"I can't believe you, America," Kriss whispers, harsh accusation dripping with each word.  
"What can't you believe, Kriss? That I was late?"  
"I never expected you could do something like this. It's below even Celeste."  
"Sorry I'm late," A welcome voice interrupts my response. "Mother, Father, Ladies," he bows to each of us in turn before taking his seat.  
Celeste turns her head to watch him, as if recalculating her next move; Natalie studies her plate while Elise eyes him with curiosity, but it's Kriss' reaction that make me feel guilty. She looks up at him with thinly veiled but complete devastation and I'm able to briefly put myself in her shoes. She believes that the man she wants to marry just slept with someone else. I would be crushed too.  
I decide to adopt Natalie's mantra and keep my head down, not once do I feel his gaze fall on me.  
After breakfast, we are gathered in the Women's Room to wait for Silvia. My stomach twists as the door closes behind Celeste, Silvia can't come soon enough.  
"So this is how you convince Maxon to keep you here. You open your legs whenever he calls and you send home the Selection Compensation. You're not just a slut, you're the worlds greatest prostitute."  
"I didn't sleep with him."  
"Stop lying, America. No one believes you," Kriss says.  
"I do."  
All three of us turn to look at Elise, who is standing a few feet away from us with a calm look on her face.  
"What?" Celeste cries with an anger that would make a grown man flinch.  
But Elise simply shrugs and says, "Maxon hasn't kissed me once, and from what I have heard, even from the more theatric girls, he has been nothing but appropriate when he has kissed one of us. It doesn't make sense that he would take that kind of risk now. Intercourse is an act of man and wife, if Maxon wanted America to be his wife, all he has to do is ask."  
No one speaks are Elise seems to take a breath. I haven't spent that much time with her, but she's always had my respect. And now she has my gratitude, even if the use of such a blatant name for the most forbidden act made me cringe a little inside. I'd always liked the term 'making love' the most, but since it seems like something May would say, I've never admitted it to anyone.  
"The fact that we all are still here," Elise continues, "just proves the fact that last night was just a rumor."  
"Rumor or not, I can't wait till the King hears about this. Don't worry, I'm sure he won't do anything too drastic." Her mouth twists into a cruel smile. "But then, we've already seen what he did to the last whore he had found."  
Anger pulses through my veins at the mention of Marlee. Somewhere in the back of my head I know she's just trying to get me rallied. That she's angry and wants to manipulate me into doing something that will get me in trouble, but I can't find it in me to care. This is the second time she's brought up Marlee, and it will be her last even if I have to rip out her tongue to make sure of it.  
Just as I'm about to jump, Silvia comes into the room.  
"Ladies!" Silvia exclaims, shocked at the tension in the room. "Control yourselves," she snaps.  
Celeste and I slowly turn away from each other, neither trusting the other not to attack when their back was turned.  
Silvia sends us a chastised look before taking a deep breath and starting in her usual cheery voice, "I know you usually wait for guests on Saturdays, but toady I have a special assignment for you all."  
"As you know, the queen is usually in charge of receiving important guests. You all saw how graciously she hosted our friends from Swendway. However, the visitors we have coming from the German Federation and Italy are even more important than the Swendish royal family. And we thought this visit would be an excellent exercise for you all, especially since we've been so focuses on diplomacy lately. You will work in teams to prepare a reception for your respective guests, including a meal, entertainment, and gifts," Silvia explains.  
I gulp down the lump in my throat as she continues.  
"It is very important for us to maintain the relationship we have as well as to forge new ones with other countries, these guests, as well as guides for what's typically frowned upon when hosting events for them. However, the actual execution is in your hands."  
"The queen and I want to make this as fair as possible and I think we've done a good job of putting you all on the same field. Ladies Celeste, Natalie, and Elise, you will be organizing one reception. Lady Kriss and Lady America, you will be organizing the other. And since you have one less person, you will have one more day. Our visitors from the German Federation will be coming on Wednesday, and we'll be receiving guests from Italy on Thurday."  
There is a short moment of silence as we all take that in.  
"You mean we have four days?" Celeste screeches.  
"Yes," Silvia says. "But a queen has to do this work alone and sometimes with far less notice."  
The panic is palpable, the fight with Celeste the furthest thing from my mind now.  
"Can we have our papers, please?" Kriss askes, holding out her hand. Instinctively, I put mine out as well. Within seconds we are devouring the pages.  
"This is going to be tough," Kriss sighs. "Even with the extra day."  
"Don't worry," I assure her. "We're going to win."  
"How can you be so sure?"  
"Beacuse," I say defensively. "There's no way I'm letting Celeste do better than me."  
Despite everything that has happened this morning, Kriss laughs. Maybe Elise convinced her or maybe she is thankful to have a straw to grasp onto, but she doesn't seem like she hates me anymore. Which is good. This would be a whole lot harder if we were harboring a grudge for each other.  
And I meant what I told her. We will win this.


End file.
